


What Could Happen

by EchoResonance



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, But it opened the door for some prime development, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Lance was a jerk, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-03 15:59:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8719918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoResonance/pseuds/EchoResonance
Summary: “I don’t hate you, Lance.”“Whatever, I get it. I’m a pain in the ass, I know, you don’t have to tell me. I’m just--I’m garbage, I don’t know why I even came here, I--”“Lance, shut up. You’re not garbage, but I’m not changing my mind. You’re not changing my mind. Not this time.”“Baby, please. I love you, please come back.”“I--I can’t, Lance. I can’t. Please go.”“Keith, Baby, please.”“Goodbye, Lance.”There were tears in Keith’s eyes before he’d slammed the door in Lance’s face.





	1. Chapter 1

Some people can let go of their mistakes. Acknowledge them, learn from them, then move on with their lives. Some people can sleep at night without thoughts of could’ve-should’ve-would’ve keeping them awake, without remembering the places they’ve messed up or the people they have hurt. Some people swim instead of drowning in their inadequacies. Lance is not one of those people.

Lance remembers every screw-up. He might have even invented a few extra that he now thinks are as real as the others. Every time he said or did the wrong thing, every time he failed, every time he succeeded but not as well as he should have done. Each and every instance where he has fallen short, branded into his mind. There are a lot and they hurt, but only in private, only behind closed doors. Once he’d tried to share his injuries, his insecurities, and even that he ruined.

That’s why he lies on his couch now wearing sweats that he hasn’t washed in over a week, in his small apartment, and stares blankly at the ceiling. Alone. Hunk will come over if Lance calls, so Lance doesn’t call. If he texts Pidge they’ll respond with a healthy dose of mood-raising memes, so he doesn’t text Pidge. Shiro or Coran will be ready with their words of wisdom and Allura will have the brutal but refreshing truth hanging on her lips before Lance says a word. But he wants to be alone. He deserves to be alone. So he doesn’t say a single word.

It’s been months. Months since another body inhabited this space. Months since two people sat on this couch and shared the one bed in the other room, trading warmth, simple touches and quiet words. It should have gotten easier by now, right? Easier to see the emptiness of the rooms now that it’s just him? Easier to hear...well, nothing but his own breathing? But it hasn’t. Maybe a few months aren’t as long as Lance thinks--though they feel like centuries--or maybe it’s something that isn’t going to go away just like that.

Lance rolls onto his side to stare out the window. The bright, cheery blue sky outside doesn’t dare reach past the glass to infiltrate the cramped living space.

It’s his fault. He knows it is, and he knows it really was years coming, but he still feels blindsided by it all somehow. He’d seen all the signs but not really believed that they could become something tangible. Things went wrong; they went wrong a lot, and he never really did much in the aftermath but wait. He expected issues to sort themselves out, and they did. Until now.

He’s called. Texted. Even gone to visit once, but the spare key’s been moved from its hiding spot and no one answered when he knocked. He understands. Really, he does. But he’s nothing if not selfish, and all he wants is another chance despite the untold number he’s run through already. One last chance, to cling to and cherish and worship like he should have with the first.

There are no tears. He’s pretty sure he’s run out. Still, there’s an ache in his throat and a pain in his chest when he plucks his phone off the coffee table. The way he unlocks it is almost mechanical and as he opens his gallery there’s a clear air of automatic action taking place. Bitter familiarity smarts in the motions of flipping through picture after picture, and this just makes the pain so much worse, but he can’t stop. What can he say? He’s a masochist.

He misses that smile, the feel of hair between his fingers and the glide of smooth skin beneath his palm. He misses the gleam in those eyes, the flash of teeth and the sound of pure, unashamed joy in laughter made even more precious in its rarity. He misses all of it, and resents the ghosts they’ve left him with. Lingering apparitions in his home that carve him open all over again. Sometimes he’s still confused when he wakes up and the bed is empty but for him, still feels his insides drop away when he goes to shower and only sees his things.

It’s stupid. He has no sense of self-control, clearly, because next he does as he has so many times before and pulls up their message history.

**_16/04_ **

**20:02**

Just left work, want anything?

**20:04**

just u ;) 

and maybe some popcorn? im all out :’(

**20:10**

What kind?

**20:10**

i am shocked. wounded. how can u not kno my popcorn preferences by now?

**20:11**

Maybe because you never told me?

**20:11**

cmon babe, its obvious movie theater is the best kind. the orvilles stuff. same kind thats always in my cupboards

**20:12**

Right. How silly of me. Be there soon.

**20:13**

it was silly, but u kno what? i forgive u. im just that kinda guy

**20:14**

You’re something else, you know that?

**20:14**

yes actually i do

**20:17**

Ridiculous.

**20:18**

love u babe <3 

**20:20**

<3

 

**_22/04_ **

**11:16**

babe how come i havent seen u in days?

**11:43**

Sorry, sorry, been super busy with work. My parents came to visit yesterday, too, and they give me a hard time whenever I’m on my phone.

**11:51**

seriously? im being neglected for foster parents? im not feelin the love man

**11:53**

Lance, that’s not fair. You know I don’t get to see them that often. I see you almost every day.

**11:55**

not even. im already forgetting what u look like! 

**11:56**

Don’t be so dramatic. You have, like, a thousand pictures of us on your phone.

**11:56**

stiiiiiillllllll. im going through withdrawl. u couldve at least told me u were gonna be with them ysterday

**11:58**

I didn’t even know until they knocked on my door, Lance! It took me by surprise too.

**12:01**

ur coming over tonite, right?

**12:05**

I work late, don’t know if I’ll be able to.

**12:05**

ill stay up. i miss u

**12:14**

Oh my god, alright. 

**12:15**

YES! VICTORY IS MINE

**12:23**

You are absolutely ridiculous. 

**12:23**

u love me

**12:28**

Yeah, I do. See you tonight.

**12:30**

love you too babe!

 

**23:34**

You fell asleep, didn’t you?

**23:35**

Dude, how are you able to sleep through that obnoxious buzzer?

**23:40**

You are the biggest hypocrite I think I’ve ever met, I hope you know that. You do understand that your place is nowhere near on my way home from work, don’t you?

**23:52**

I’m heading home, I have to open up tomorrow. Sleep well, I guess?

 

**_13/05_ **

**9:16**

Lance I got the job! 

**9:27**

Hellooooo?

**10:07**

sorry babe l8 night. and duh obvs u got the job? congrats tho

**10:11**

Your enthusiasm is palpable.

**10:13**

sorry we cant all be weirdly chipper before sunrise

**10:13**

Lance the sun’s been up since 7

**10:15**

hey dont cloud this issue with facts sunrise literally means anytime before noon on weekends! u kno that

**10:15**

Yeah, yeah, so sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep. Not that you need it.

**10:16**

i cant tell if that was an insult or a compliment

**10:16**

I’ll leave it to your imagination.

**10:16**

glowing praise it is then

**10:18**

so when do you start?

**10:19**

The dojo said I can start next week!

**10:20**

ur rly excited abt this arent u?

**10:21**

I really am. Are you free tonight?

**10:22**

not rly. got work this afternoon & im volunteering til ten at the kitty shelter

**10:25**

Oh. Have fun at work, then.

**10:26**

love u babe!

**10:27**

Love you too

 

**10:45**

im free tomorrow, tho. we can do something then?

**10:50**

Can’t, I’m meeting with my new boss tomorrow to go over paperwork

**10:51**

okay. good lcuk

**10:56**

Thanks, Lance

 

Whenever they had a falling out, Lance’s version of fixing it was to go back to normal, pretend it hadn’t even happened. Keith usually let things resolve like that, even if it was obvious it was still bothering him. Lance didn’t apologize because his pride wouldn’t let him. He couldn’t possibly admit he was wrong, let himself be vulnerable or--god forbid--human in front of Keith, not perfect Keith, with the grades and the looks and all the natural talent one could ever need. Keith was everything Lance wasn’t, and that was initially what drew Lance to him.

It was like Keith was a flame and Lance a moth. Keith burned so brightly that Lance couldn’t help but see him, couldn’t help but be drawn closer. He’d been the top of their class in college, he was the instructor for a self-defense class there, he teaches at a karate dojo now, he built the motorcycle he rides  _ from scratch _ . It’s enough to make anyone interested, and Lance more so than most, because he was and still is none of the things that Keith is. He wasn’t the smartest, he still can’t manage anything more athletic than yoga; things just aren’t easy for him. Not like they are for Keith. Lance is a hard worker, and it’s not like he was accepted into college for being lazy or stupid, he just wasn’t smart enough to meet his own expectations. And that’s the thing, isn’t it? He has expectations for himself, high ones, but he’s never enough, can never rise up to the potential he’s sure he has. Keith never seemed to have the same dilemma.

At some point, Lance turned from admiring Keith to resenting him, envying him for things he couldn’t help and begrudging him for problems that weren’t his. It wasn’t Keith’s fault, it wasn’t fair, but that didn’t matter. Keith became a reminder of everything Lance wasn’t, just the human-shaped embodiment of all of his shortcomings. And Lance started to act in kind. Everything became a competition, a way to try and be better than Keith, and at first it seemed like harmless fun. But it didn’t last. 

He’d convinced himself this was just how he was, that he couldn’t help his knee-jerk responses when Keith said or did something, that it was all on Keith. But he could see the toll it started to take. He saw Keith getting tired, saw him pulling back, and he just watched it happen. Somehow even when the last piece of Keith was removed from Lance’s apartment Lance hadn’t thought that it would last more than a week, maybe two, before Keith came back.

Needless to say, the week passed. Then the second. Lance was angry and bitter and utterly self-righteous, convinced that Keith was overreacting, that he hadn’t even done anything that  _ bad _ . He refused to be the one to try to cross the distance--like always--as the second week bled into the third. At the start of the fourth, though, he began to worry, and gave up on waiting.

Lance buries his face in his pillow and wills that conversation not to resurface in his brain. It does anyway.

_ “How long are you gonna keep this up?” _

_ “Keep what up?” _

_ “THIS! This--tantrum thing you’re doing.” _

_ “Are you fucking kidding me?” _

_ “No! This is stupid, can’t you just--” _

_ “It’s not stupid. We broke up, Lance. If this is the only reason you came, you should leave.” _

_ “Not without you.” _

_ “Too bad.” _

_ “Keith, we’re going home.” _

_ “Newsflash: I  _ am _ home. This is my flat.” _

_ “You know what I mean!” _

_ “No. No I don’t. I can’t read your mind like you want me to.” _

_ “I don’t want you to read my mind, what does that have to do with anything?” _

_ “It has to do with you just expecting me to know what’s bothering you without telling me! It has to do with you getting mad or upset at everything I do! I can’t fucking win with you, it’s exhausting!” _

_ “Baby, come on, is that all? I can--” _

_ “Oh, no, don’t even start. You always say you’ll try and you never do, so don’t.  _ Even _. Fucking. Start. Just leave, Lance. I’m done. We’re done.” _

_ “Seriously?! One fight and that’s it?” _

_ “It’s not just one fight and you know it! Goddamn it, can you think of  _ anybody _ besides yourself without giving yourself a headache?” _

_ “What’s that supposed to mean?!” _

_ “It means you’re a selfish prick! Get out of here now before I call the cops!” _

_ “You seriously hate me that much?” _

_ “...I don’t hate you.” _

_ “Yeah right, that’s why you won’t even let me inside, right?” _

_ “I don’t hate you, Lance.” _

_ “Whatever, I get it. I’m a pain in the ass, I know, you don’t have to tell me. I’m just--I’m garbage, I don’t know why I even came here, I--” _

_ “Lance, shut up. You’re not garbage, but I’m not changing my mind.  _ You’re _ not changing my mind. Not this time.” _

_ “Baby, please. I love you, please come back.” _

_ “I--I can’t, Lance. I can’t. Please go.” _

_ “Keith, Baby, please.” _

_ “Goodbye, Lance.” _

There were tears in Keith’s eyes before he’d slammed the door in Lance’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I get any little beasties raging about my portrayal of this relationship, I'm gonna say that the basis of this fic is that Keith and Lance got together exactly as they are in canon of season 1. They had good times, but their relationship wasn't healthy, and a lot of it came from Lance's silent inferiority complex. Eventually Keith decided he'd had enough and left, not because he didn't care about Lance or because he believed Lance didn't care about him, but because this relationship was exhausting both of them and just wasn't worth it as it was.  
> The point is NOT to say Lance is a terrible person or terrible boyfriend, and NOT to say that Keith is perfect in either category. It's simply that Lance has a tendency to fixate, and we've SEEN how badly his inferiority complex affects him and his relationship with Keith.  
> These two have a lot of growing before they'll have the relationship that a lot of people portray them having, and I mean A LOT, but I look forward to seeing how they rise to their potential.
> 
> EDIT: something I neglected to mention was that the way Lance (canonically) behaves toward Keith is very similar to a situation I had with my ex. It was this constant cycle of one-upmanship, of obsessing over how HE looked and trying to prove he was better. He was also incredibly clingy and accidentally emotionally manipulative--I couldn't dream of wanting a little space or me-time without him getting butthurt. I don't think he's genuinely a bad person, but it was a bad relationship and left me absolutely exhausted. So this is written from a place of experience as well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was supposed to be 2 chapters. But it...it got away from me

It’s late November. Lance doesn’t have to go into work today, and the animal shelter has enough volunteers coming in that they won’t miss him. He’s glad, because he’s too busy staring out at the sky from his couch to even think of being productive. The heat in his apartment is more than enough to keep the chill of late autumn away, but he’s curled up in a heavy blanket all the same. If he closes his eyes he can pretend it still smells like Keith, that it even kind of feels like his arms are wrapped around Lance while he complains about yesterday’s customers at the coffee shop and Lance only half-listens.

The forecast predicted snow today. First of the season. Assuming the weatherman is right, something that nobody in their friend group is trusting enough to believe, that is. Pidge has already texted Lance the current state of their betting poll. Hunk thinks that it definitely looks like it’ll snow tonight, while Pidge has put their money on a delayed forecast and Shiro hasn’t thrown in one way or the other. They don’t mention Keith, but they don’t need to. Keith isn’t much for betting unless it’s something trivial at Lance’s expense, like the chances that the girl at the cafe gave him a fake number.

Lance sighs. He hasn’t put any money in, either. He’s just curled on his couch and waiting, half hoping the first snow won’t come and half hoping that it’ll be so heavy that he’ll end up snowed-in.

Two years ago, Lance had waited for the first snow of the season. He’d set everything up perfectly. He told Keith the group was going ice skating in the park and he had to come too, even if he insisted he didn’t know how to skate. Lance was persuasive, so he wasn’t surprised when Keith showed up, bundled appropriately against the chill, but he’d been struck momentarily dumb by the way Keith looked at the snow. He had an almost childlike look of wonder about him, the fairy lights hanging in the trees reflected in his wide eyes as he tugged his jacket more securely around him. It reminded Lance that Keith was from the south and snow was all but a myth to him, and he felt inexplicably proud that his plan was even more perfect than he’d thought.

Lance’s confession had been smooth and polished, and he definitely hadn’t stammered or blushed, and if his voice broke it was only because the cold was killing his throat. Keith had been nerve-wrackingly straight-faced and silent while Lance talked, but a slow pink flush crept steadily across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. When Lance finished, Keith didn’t hesitate to call him an idiot. Since this was followed immediately by Keith pulling Lance down into a bruising kiss, however, Lance didn’t hold it against him.

The night had been one of the best of Lance’s life--and he’d had a pretty happy one. He learned that Keith had not been joking when he said he could not skate and had the pleasure of teaching him up close and personal, chuckling when the man clung to his arm to keep himself upright but tugging him back when Keith tried to stand on his own in retaliation. He had an excuse to keep his arm around Keith’s waist, not that he needed it, and received no complaints. Once Keith finally started to get the hang of it, they took a break and got hot chocolate from the park vendor, and it was cheap and watered down but neither of them minded much. The bench they sat on was wet and sagged in the middle, a fact that took Lance forever to convince Keith to overlook and that he immediately regretted when the old, weather-worn wood gave out under their combined weight. They’d finished their drinks already--small graces--so at least they didn’t have to deal with hot cocoa stains on top of bruises and snow down their pants. That was an  _ I-told-you-so _ moment on Keith’s part that Lance didn’t think he was ever going to live down.

When they parted, it was awkward. Amazingly so, as if they were back in highschool and not newly-graduated from university. They walked back to the parking lot and shuffled their feet, procrastinating returning to their own vehicles and calling the night to a close. Again, it was Keith who initiated the kiss, but it was gentler than the first by miles. Slow and sweet, with Keith’s hands curling in the front of Lance’s jacket and Lance’s fingers framing Keith’s face, eyes half-lidded and lips barely parted as they pressed together and pulled away. And when Lance pulled back, his throat closed up to see Keith’s expression, vulnerable and exposed, and when it took Keith several moments before his eyes blinked open it took all of Lance’s self-control not to dive right back in.

Lance wants that back. Wants to fall backwards into a snowdrift with Keith trapped in his arms, snow sneaking up his shirt and soaking the back of his jeans. He wants Keith to laugh, bright and free and open, when Lance trips over his own skates because he was too busy admiring the way the lamps made the snow in Keith’s hair gleam like a halo to watch where he was going. He wants Keith, smiling. He wants Keith, happy.

He wants and he wants and he wants, and it’s always been his greatest weakness to want more than what he has. As soon as he achieves one goal, he finds a new one, a bigger one, a grander one. He wants and he wants and he wants, and the desires build upon one another until he forgets which ones were actually important to him. Sometimes it’s the simple desires he cherishes the most, but it’s the simple ones that are the easiest for him to overlook in the heat of the moment. He wants and he wants and he wants, and usually it’s for him but sometimes he has a purely unselfish want. More than anything, he wants Keith to be happy. There was a time when that had been all that mattered, and he’d do anything to make it a reality. Where had that time gone?

The epiphany hits him with the force of a freight train. He just wants Keith to be content, to smile everyday, yet somehow despite how much Lance wants that, he had stopped trying to make that happen. He’d become so invested in himself, trying to make himself better than Keith, that he forgot why he wanted to be with Keith in the first place.

The blanket prevents Lance from leaping up as dramatically as he wants, but he ends up on his feet nonetheless. He’s struggling to yank on his boots and trying to figure out what exactly he hopes to accomplish, but shoves the questions aside. He’ll deal with them when he has to. Right now, he just needs to go, one last time. Not for him, not for  _ them _ ; just for Keith.

If letting go once and for all is the only way he has left to make Keith happy, then he has to do it. He has to do  _ something _ .


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy this motherfucker REALLY got away from me.

He hesitates outside the shop. Through the window Lance sees people sharing tables, leaning into each other or over textbooks, some laughing and others squinting. The lights are warm and gentle, and strings of paper snowflakes hang from the counter and the ceiling, paired with cheap twinkling lights. The wall behind the counter is plastered with coloring projects courtesy of the youngest patrons.

Also behind the counter are Shiro and Keith. Shiro leans against the empty space beside the cash register, grinning while Keith appears to clean up after a long stream of customers. Keith’s hair is tied back at the nape of his neck. When he shakes his head at something that Shiro says, loose bits of hair flutter in his face and he pauses in his work to push them back. 

Lance swallows and very nearly turns on his heel and flees the scene. He probably would have, were it not for a sudden crowd of people converging on him just as his determination wavers, pushing and jostling him through the door with them in their rush for caffeine. He stumbles gracelessly over the threshold with a yelp of surprise, and his gaze immediately flicks up to the counter. His world narrows to a single pair of wide, dark eyes.

Untrue to expectations, Lance doesn’t burst into flames. He’s sure; he glances down at himself to check and finds not a single thread so much as singed. By the time he looks back up, Keith’s attention has shifted to the newly-formed line, but there’s a conspicuous lack of color to his complexion.

The seven minutes it takes Lance to reach the front of the line are the longest of his life, but eventually it’s his turn to face Shiro and try not to make an ass of himself. Shiro doesn’t seem like he’s anything but pleasantly surprised to see Lance and he takes some comfort in knowing that Shiro has a terrible poker face, so at least he’s not entirely unwelcome.

“Been a while,” Shiro comments with a careful smile.

“Y-yeah,” Lance chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Can I, uh, get a--”

“We know.”

Lance jumps. Keith doesn’t look at him as he makes what appear to be three drinks at once. Shiro snorts and Lance looks back in time to see him ringing up his order. Dumbly Lance fumbles his wallet out of his pocket and extracts a ten dollar bill. Shiro trades him for three crumpled ones and a couple dimes and catches his eye just before Lance moves on. He glances surreptitiously at Keith, who’s calling a couple for their drinks, and then back to Lance, nodding once.

Feeling somewhat emboldened by Shiro’s encouragement--if only slightly--Lance shuffles to the pick-up end of the counter. Keith doesn’t react, his valid excuse being that he still has drinks to make. Lance takes a deep breath, shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, and leans closer.

“Can we talk?” he asks, proud when his voice doesn’t waver.

Keith hesitates with his hands on the espresso machine, eyes flicking sideways and briefly scanning over him. His brow creases, but he doesn’t outright tell Lance to fuck off, and that gives him hope.

“Just talk,” he specifies when Keith’s silence stretches. “And--and then you can go home, and we...we can…”

_ Move on _ . The words stick in Lance’s throat.

“Just like that?” Keith says, tone carefully controlled. “You’d be okay with letting me leave?”

_ No. _

Lance swallows and ducks his head. 

“I...I want you to be happy,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you to leave. But...I won’t force you to stay. Not if you’d just be unhappy. If, after I say what I need to say, you still want to leave, I--I can accept that.”

The sound of the espresso machine starting up again makes Lance jump. When he looks up, Keith has busied himself with the coffee order again and is conspicuously hiding his face. Lance knows the curve of Keith’s shoulders and he can see the cogs turning in his head; the man is weighing his options, choosing his next words carefully in a way he rarely does. He tries not to get excited, to tell himself that even if Keith agrees to talk, it doesn’t mean he’ll take Lance back. He doesn’t have to and by all rights he shouldn’t want to, and Lance understands that. He doesn’t want to get his hope up.

Lance hasn’t watched Keith work in a long time. He’s forgotten the little details of how Keith moves; how his slim hands dance through flavors and containers and machines, how his attention narrows to a calm but intense focus. His expression relaxes when he’s mixing drinks, eyes softening and his mouth falling out of the thin line that he takes orders with. Lance has missed this Keith, too.

“I’m off at two,” Keith says finally, sliding the cup across the counter.

Lance’s eyes flick to his watch and his heart lurches. It’s just past one. Just enough time to panic.

“Lance?” Keith prompts. Lance starts and looks up. 

Keith frowns at him.

“Yeah?” he squeaks, then curses himself silently. Keith’s frown deepens and Lance’s insides twist.

“Why don’t you take on of the tables in the back?” Keith suggests. “Pidge usually comes in early. I’ll be over when they show up.”

Lance nods mutely and turns to shuffle in the direction indicated.

“Lance!” Keith hollers, and there’s a hint of amusement in the lilt of his voice.

Lance jerks around and heat floods his face and neck when he sees his drink being held aloft in Keith’s hand. Cheeks burning Lance scrambles to retrieve it and then scurries to a free table, half-praying that a hole will open up in the floor and swallow him.

* * *

It’s about forty minutes that Lance has to wait, but it feels like hours have passed before he hears Pidge’s voice chirping from the counter. He’s been cycling between watching Keith work--heart thudding when Keith laughs at something Shiro does--and staring at his phone screen without seeing what he was looking at. When he realizes that it’s five ‘til two and Pidge is here, Lance’s stomach falls away. Just before he can panic, though, a soft voice intrudes on his thoughts.

“Lance?”

Lance swallows and hopes that when he looks up he doesn’t look as pathetic as he feels. Keith stands next to the chair across the table, apron replaced with a dark burgundy scarf that drapes loosely around his shoulders, standing in stark contrast with the overlarge grey sweater he wears that hangs just past the waistband of his dark jeans. With a pang Lance recognizes the scarf he knitted for Keith last Christmas.

The man hold two cups in his hands. When Lance jerks upright to acknowledge him, Keith holds one out to him. Confused, Lance can do nothing but take it, his thanks catching in his throat as he catches a whiff not of coffee but apple-cinnamon chai.

“Do you wanna talk here?” Keith prompts, and Lance hates how controlled his voice is.

He nods mutely and watches a flicker of relief cross Keith’s face as he sits. Neither of them break the tense silence immediately and Keith occupies himself with watching the people walk past the cafe through the window. Two gazes are fixed on them from the counter and Lance is acutely aware of both of them. He takes a shaky breath and sets his tea down on the table. Keith’s eyes dart away from the window to him and he sits up straighter in his chair.

“I was an ass,” Lance starts, wincing at how hollow the words sound.

Keith blinks, then inclines his head. Lance continues, clumsily trying to sort out his words  _ before _ they leave his lips.

“I was a selfish jackass,” he stumbles.  _ Should’ve had notecards, moron _ . “I’ve got--I’ve got a lot of--self-esteem issues, and I took them out on you.”

“Made me feel guilty for being good at anything,” Keith agrees.

Lance’s throat convulses and he lowers his eyes to Keith’s hands. They sit quite still against his cup, fingertips just lacing together over it.

“With you, I felt like I had to apologize for everything,” Keith continues, and an edge creeps into his voice. “I didn’t...I  _ don’t _ know what I did to upset you at all, most of the time. You’d never tell me. You just...expected me to fix it.”

A bitter taste creeps across Lance’s tongue and he realizes numbly that he’s biting his lip. The chapped, sensitive skin has cracked right in the middle, blood welling up slowly and trickling back into his mouth.

“I know,” he rasps. “I know, God, I really messed up. I don’t--don’t wanna make excuses. I don’t. I was just...I don’t know. Scared, maybe. And I know that’s no reason to treat you like that and I can’t tell you how sorry I am, and--”

“Scared?” Keith interrupts, confusion overtaking bitterness. “What were you scared of?”

With a weak chuckle, Lance scrubs his hand through his hair and lets his glower sink even further. Someone passing by will think that Lance has a personal vendetta against someone named Joey for carving the cheap surface to declare his presence.

“Man, I don’t know,” he says, and he’s mortified when his voice breaks. “You? Myself? Everything? Fuck, I don’t know. I just--you’re so much--and I’m just--damnit, I don’t know why you were with me at all, you deserve so much better, and I--I--”

Lance is shaking. He curls his fingers into fists in his lap in an attempt to hide it, clenches his jaw to trap the tremor. It’s useless, of course, what with how his words quake and his vision fogs, and he hates it, hates regressing into  _ this _ . In public, in front of Keith; he’s a mess and it’s humiliating. What is he even doing? He’s supposed to be apologizing, groveling even, whatever it takes if it means he doesn’t have to leave alone, and this? This is pathetic.

“Lance.” Keith’s voice sounds a long way off. “Lance, listen to me. My voice. Look at me.”

Against his better judgement, Lance un-glues his gaze from someone’s scribble labeling Joey as a loser. He meets Keith’s eyes and is startled to find them gentle, even warm.

“Breathe,” Keith murmurs calmly. “With me, alright? Four beats in, four out.”

Lance tries. He focuses on Keith’s shoulders and tries to match the movement of his own. He shoves his thoughts aside and thinks instead of forcing his lungs to work properly, realizing as he does that he’s on the verge of hyperventilating. Soon enough his breath evens out and once the moment passes, shame crests over Lance’s head in huge waves all over again. Keith shouldn’t be taking care of him. 

“Are you sure you want to stay here?” Keith asks.

Lance grits his teeth and nods. Keith sighs.

“Okay. Do you want to try that again?” he says. “I just want the truth Lance. That’s all.”

The truth. That’s just the problem, isn’t it? The truth is that Lance can’t measure up. He can never be the kind of person that Keith needs; the kind of person that Keith  _ deserves _ . When they started, Lance had been in love with the potential they had. He’d loved Keith for Keith and still does, but he was more in love with the idea of their relationship than the actual thing. Maybe that was why, when it wasn’t exactly as he imagined it, he found it easier to step away than to try and change.

Lance forces himself to take a deep breath and lets it out as slowly as he can.

“I’ve...never...been with someone. Like this,” he begins. “Like, sure, I’ve dated plenty before, but that was mostly just for fun, y’know? It was easy, ‘cause it didn’t  _ mean _ anything. And...and with you, it wasn’t like that. I’d wake up and see you hogging all the covers and just wish that...it would never stop. I’ve never been serious about relationships, and when I realized how damn gone I was for you, I panicked.”

He pauses and glances up through his lashes to find Keith watching him with an unfathomable expression. His lips part slightly, and there might be faint color in his cheeks, but Lance doesn’t let himself read more into it than surprise.

“Why?” Keith asks, and there’s no denying the roughness to his voice.

Lance looks away again.

“Because I wanted you to stay,” he says. “And I didn’t know if you felt the same. Well, no, that’s not right. Keith, you’re incredible. I know you’re not perfect, but you’re close enough that it fucking  _ hurts _ , and I’m  _ not _ , and I couldn’t...I couldn’t see you  _ wanting _ to stay with...someone like me. At first I was just...trying to be better, I guess? Prove I was good enough. But it...obviously, it got out of hand.”

“Obviously.”

Lance flinches.

“I can’t...There aren’t words for how sorry I am,” he whispers. “I don’t blame you for leaving, and if you still want to I’ll understand. I just wanted you to know that, I guess.”

The silence stretches for one beat. Then two. Lance’s heart abuses his chest to the point where he tries to recall if he’s read a study about whether the heart can actually break ribs or not. He can still smell his chai but feels like taking a drink of it now will make him look like even more of an ass, so he reluctantly abstains even though it would at least give his hands something to do. He swipes his palms against his jeans--when did they start sweating?--and when he can’t stand the quiet any longer he looks up and finds himself frozen in his seat.

There’s fire in Keith’s eyes. It’s been an eternity since Lance has seen that burning look--it had been long absent even before Keith left--and the sight of it sends a thrill through him. It’s angry, but it’s more than that. In that look there are a hundred thoughts colliding, emotions that Keith can’t sort out or make sense of quickly enough to voice them. More like feelings and instincts than fleshed-out ideas. It’s wild.

“You,” Keith growls, “are an absolute moron.”

Lance presses his lips together and looks at Keith’s scarf.

“Lance, who exactly do you think  _ someone like you _ is?”

Keith moves, and suddenly there’s a hand under Lance’s chin, forcing his face up, and Keith is leaning in too close, their noses inches apart, and his eyes blaze and Lance forgets to breathe.

“Because to  _ me _ , someone like you goes out of their way to make total strangers smile. Someone like you picks up every fucking stray cat they see and cries when they feed it and find some old lady that already has seventeen. Someone like you puts their all into everything and works their fingers to the bone over dumb things like Christmas presents just because they want to.”

Even if Lance wants to, he can’t look away from Keith. The hold the man has on his jaw is almost bruising, but he barely notices because Keith’s dark eyes are gleaming too brightly and Lance has lost all sense of his own body. His hands aren’t shaking in his lap anymore.

“Someone like you is so obsessed with taking care of other people that they shove all their own problems down some hole because they don’t want to bother anybody with them. Someone like you would sooner see themselves as a failure than admit that anyone else might be. Someone like you would self-destruct in a relationship because they didn’t think they were good enough for a person that felt blessed every goddamn morning he woke up next to you.”

_ He’s crying _ .

Lance is on his feet, Keith’s hand knocked aside, without realizing how he gets there, and he’s jerking Keith out of his chair and folding himself around the smaller man because  _ goddamnit Keith is crying _ and there is something fundamentally wrong with that. Keith allows Lance to pull him against his chest, even reaches up to curl his fingers in the edges of Lance’s open jacket, and that’s what does it. The feel of Keith in his arms again, after weeks and months of painful nothing, is what breaks down the last bit of pride Lance clings to and informs him that he has not, in fact, run out of tears to shed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into Keith’s hair. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I miss you, God I miss you so much, I’m sorry.”

Keith pushes his face into Lance’s neck, but if he hopes to hide his tears it’s the wrong thing to do; they fall from Keith’s lashes onto Lance’s skin, and it’s the most beautiful and painful feeling.

“I can’t believe you,” Keith growls against his throat. “I can’t believe this. You never--never  _ said _ anything, oh my God.”

“There’s not really an easy way to say  _ I’m being a dick because I wish I was you _ ,” Lance hiccups. Then: “I’m sorry. None of it was your fault. I didn’t even know how lucky I was to have you and you deserve so much more than just me--”

“There is no  _ just you _ , Lance,” Keith snaps. He yanks on the jacket with such force that Lance nearly falls on top of him. “There is no  _ more _ than you. I don’t know what the hell I did to make you think I’m so great, but I am never doing it again because you’re  _ wrong _ .”

Lance sniffles loudly and hugs Keith tighter.

“So?” he mumbles, turning so that his lips brush Keith’s forehead. “I know I don’t deserve it, but can you forgive me for being such a massive dick?”

He holds his breath and counts the seconds it takes for Keith to sniff. Take a shuddering breath. Let it out just as unsteadily.

“Goddamnit it,” he growls, and Keith is leaning back and Lance’s heart sinks.

He gets one look at Keith’s flushed, tear-stained face. One look at that fire that somehow hasn’t managed to simmer down yet. Then Keith yanks him down by his jacket and they collide.

Honestly? It’s kind of gross. They’re both on the verge of sobbing and Lance can taste salt where their lips meet. Neither of them are breathing right and Lance is just trying to combat an impending running nose before the moment is ruined entirely. But after an eternity without, this kiss is bliss, and slowly it morphs into something better, smoother, familiarity guiding them to slot together like fitted puzzle pieces. The tears don’t slow, but neither of them minds very much. 

One of Lance’s hands falls low on Keith’s back, tugging him closer, and the other cradles the curve of his neck, strokes his thumb across his jaw. Keith’s hands relinquish the jacket finally, sliding up to grasp Lance’s shoulders with a grip like steel. It’s everything Lance has been keeping himself up at night thinking of, and he can’t help it; he smiles into it.

A sound slowly brings him out of his daze. Quiet at first, rhythmic, but growing louder by the second until it swells into constant white noise. They break apart and whip around, color flooding their cheeks when they realize that the entire cafe is  _ fucking applauding _ . Even Shiro and Pidge, traitors that they are, are leaning on the counter, grinning and clapping like a couple of idiots. Pidge probably started the whole thing.

Keith ducks his head, but Lance opts to make the most of the situation. He bows with a flourish, grinning from ear to ear until his face hurts, and then snags Keith around the waist to reel him back in. Any protest dies the moment Lance kisses him again and his arms slide around Lance’s neck.

“Can’t disappoint our fans now,” Lance murmurs.

“What are you-- _ Lance _ !” Keith yelps, grip tightening as Lance hoists him into the air and spins, laughing uproariously at the pure indignation on Keith’s face. 

The coffeeshop collectively bursts into laughter; when Lance sets Keith back on his feet the man wastes no time in snatching his drink in one hand and Lance’s elbow in the other. Lance barely has time to rescue his own drink before Keith is towing him out the door, his ears as red as his scarf. Lance waves at the cafe on their way out, then turns. The raucous cheer in him melts into something gentler.

It’s snowing. Fat, fluffy flakes drifting lazily down from heavy gray clouds. The streetlamps aren’t on yet, though the sun is low in the sky, not quite setting but on its way, and the entire street is awash in hazy light. There’s already a light dusting of white powder covering the street and sidewalk, not yet sullied by footprints or car tires. Their breaths puff out in wisps of white, curling through the still air until they dissipate. It’s quiet; noise seems muted.

The edges of Keith’s form are fuzzy, lit softly from behind, and the snow settling in his hair glows faintly. Keith is looking up at the sky with wide eyes, but their hands are still firmly linked and when Lance tugs he glances over, reaching up with his free hand to tug his scarf over his nose and mouth. Willingly he steps into Lance’s space; allows an arm to circle his shoulders.

“Thank you,” Lance croaks. “Thank you, Keith. I love you.”

Keith sighs and drops his forehead into Lance’s shoulder.

“Careful, Lance,” he warns. “This is gonna take a lot more than sorry to fix. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. I know,” Lance sighs. “But I’m ready when you are.”

“Okay.”

Keith steps back, reclaims Lance’s hand without a word, and they start walking. An unspoken agreement takes them in the direction of Lance’s car, parked where it always is a block away, in the lot of a hardware store. 

“As long as we’re apologizing,” Keith says after a few steps, “I want to say sorry, too.”

Lance jerks and nearly spills his drink.

“For what?” he demands, skidding to a halt and unwittingly pulling Keith back as well.

Keith looks around at him, brow furrowed and lower lip caught between his teeth.

“For letting you feel like...like you weren’t special,” he mumbles. “I should’ve told you more often.”

Lance presses his lips together and shakes his head.

“Keith, you can’t be responsible for all of my problems,” he says. “I’m not--I’m not gonna make you feel like you have to take care of me all the time. I can pull my own weight.”

“It doesn’t cost anything to tell you how amazing you are once in awhile,” Keith refutes. The blunt sincerity of his voice earns a flash of heat across Lance’s cheeks. “I just...I don’t know, never thought you needed it. You always act so confident, I thought it would just be annoying.”

There is no thought to the way Lance kisses Keith’s temple. It’s automatic, the same way Keith’s blush is. Lance lingers there for a handful of seconds that stretch into forever and squeezes Keith’s hand.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much, Keith, and I’m gonna show you every damn day from now on.”

Keith closes his eyes and leans into Lance’s chest. Surely he can hear the way Lance’s heart pounds, but he doesn’t make any comment, and after a cold and slightly damp moment he steps away again.

“Car,” he says. “I’m freezing.”

Lance can’t help but chuckle.

“So much,” he reiterates.

They don’t speak again until they’re safely out of the snow and Lance has the heater of his shitty car cranked up as high as it can go. Keith nestles into the passenger seat, cold-bitten cheeks pink where they can be seen above the scarf, and his coffee cradled in his gloved fingers.

“I love you, too,” Keith murmurs just as Lance puts the car in gear. 

He doesn’t respond but to smile softly. His heart swells, and he thinks to himself that yeah, he really, really loves this guy, and he’s going to do everything in his power to keep him this time. The right way.


	4. Epilogue

Lance wakes up when the mattress shifts. He mumbles blearily and cracks open an eye from where he lays, curled with his face buried in his pillow. The sight that meets his gaze makes his heart leap almost painfully; slender shoulders, a well-muscled back with a single silver line stretching between sharp shoulder blades. Inky hair tangled around a slim neck and a smooth expanse of fair skin that stands in stark contrast with the dark sweats sitting low on narrow hips.

“Where’re y’goin?” Lance slurs, reaching out to bat at the bed near Keith’s hip.

The other man looks around and Lance’s heart swells. His eyes are still heavy-lidded from sleep and his cheek is creased where he’d laid on the pillow. A sleepy smile tugs at Keith’s lips and his hand covers Lance’s, fingers fitting in the spaces between his.

“Just for a walk,” he answers.

God, Lance missed Keith’s voice in the mornings. How rough sleep makes it, how soft it is before the day has a chance to pull it taut from stress.

“Mm...stay?” Lance requests.

He wriggles awkwardly farther down the bed til his knees bump Keith’s lower back through the covers. Keith chuckles and squeezes his hand.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises.

Lance whines and reluctantly pushes himself upright, rubbing his hand over his face. Trying to blink the sleep from his eyes, he only just catches the tail-end of a soft, almost sad look in Keith’s eyes.

“Whassat look for?” he wonders.

Keith blinks, then smiles and shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he says. “I just…”

Awake enough now to be curious, Lance leans against Keith’s back and takes a moment to just bask in the long-absent body heat. He settles his chin on Keith’s shoulder and closes his eyes, reveling in the knowledge that he’s awake, that this smell is the remains of Keith’s deodorant and Keith’s shampoo and it’s real. With a sigh Keith returns the pressure, leaning his temple against Lance’s and settling their linked hands on his own thigh.

“You just…?” Lance prompts slyly.

“I missed seeing you wake up.”

The blunt admission wipes the smirk from Lance’s face like a whiteboard. Without conscious thought his left arm curls around Keith’s chest, and as Lance hides his face in Keith’s shoulder he presses his palm over the fluttering of Keith’s heart. It’s faster than it should be. If the air weren’t so delicate, Lance might feel smug that the man’s raised heartbeat is probably thanks to him being wrapped around him like a koala. As it is, he just clings tighter and lets out a shaky breath.

“I hate waking up alone,” Lance confesses quietly.

Keith’s breathing hitches. After a moment he lifts his free hand to cover Lance’s.

“Come with me?” he murmurs.

“Hm?”

Keith lifts their linked hands to knock gently at the crown of Lance’s head until he looks up, lower lip jutting out. His pout only intensifies at the raised eyebrow he’s met with.

“Do you want to come with me?” Keith asks. “For a walk?”

Lance hesitates. Sees the cautious look in Keith’s expression that he’s trying very hard to bury. Then he shrugs and nuzzles back into Keith’s neck.

“‘N a minute,” he mumbles. “Lemme be warm a little longer.”

“You’re like a cat,” Keith chuckles.

His hands tug at Lance’s and he obligingly relinquishes his hold so that Keith can wriggle around to face him. Then arms are snaking around his waist and his are back around Keith and they fall with an anticlimactic _fwump_ to their sides on the bed. Keith laughs into Lance’s t-shirt when the man hooks a long leg around his hips to hold him closer and Lance feels like he could fly away right now but he settles for burying his nose in Keith’s disastrous bedhead.

The humor fades away as they lay there in silence, tangled together in a way that’s achingly familiar, and breathe in each other’s presence. The atmosphere is fragile still, humming with unresolved tension that they’re not avoiding but haven’t found the opportunity to address yet, and this isn’t it. This isn’t that moment. This is a moment for tenderness and the healing touch of Keith’s hands as they begin to wander along Lance’s sides. This is a moment for reverence and the awestruck feel of Lance’s fingers as they bury themselves in Keith’s hair and gently work the knots away.

Keith’s touch skims the inch or so of skin that shows between Lance’s shirt and the waistband of his shorts and Lance shivers automatically. The touch hesitates and he curses himself inwardly, but then those nimble fingers are hitching the material higher up Lance’s chest to trace every detail they expose. They fall into the grooves between his ribs, trace the dip in his waist, splay across the flat expanse of his stomach. There’s no intent behind the touch except the touch itself, the reacquainting of a half-forgotten habit.

Lance arches against Keith’s palms slightly, delighting in the return of his burning skin and skimming hands. He rolls them so that Keith is fully beneath him, caged between Lance’s forearms, and grins down at the man who seems entirely unperturbed. Despite his leer, when he leans down to kiss Keith it’s soft and chaste, a shy brush of closed lips against each other. Without leaning away, Lance traces the line of Keith’s cheek, placing an innocent peck at the man’s dimple and then continuing on. He maps out faux constellations across Keith’s skin with his mouth, kissing the places where stars should be and connecting them with feather-light lines.

“Lance,” Keith murmurs--and his voice sounds a little rougher than it did a moment ago. “‘S been more than a minute.”

“Mm...wasn’t counting,” he hums into the hollow of Keith’s throat.

“I’m sure you weren’t,” the man answers. “C’mon. Let’s go for a walk. We can get coffee.”

“Sold,” Lance says, leaning back easily to sit on Keith’s thighs when hands push at his shoulders. “What’re we waiting for?”

Keith rolls his eyes and in one fluid motion manages to dislodge Lance from his lap _and_ rip all the blankets well out of reach. Lance yelps and gives Keith the most betrayed look he can manage.

“You,” Keith says, a smile playing around the corners of his lips. “Now come on.”

With a sigh, Lance resigns himself to climbing out of bed too early on a Friday. However, when he catches sight of Keith rummaging through his closet and pulling on one of his own shirts, he thinks that it’s definitely not the worst thing to happen to him. And when he leans down to rummage through his drawers for jeans and Keith cards his fingers once through Lance’s disheveled hair? He thinks it might even be one of the best things to happen.

By the time Lance has gone through his morning routine, Keith is all but vibrating with impatience. Still, he takes the hand offered to him unquestioningly and together they step outside into a world that looks like the inside of a snow globe. Everything is layered with white, gleaming so brightly in the early sunlight that it hurts their eyes and encourages Lance to hiss like the cat Keith seems to think he is. Keith laughs and pulls him toward the sidewalk, and they fall easily into an old route.

They walk in comfortable silence, elbows locked together while their hands hide in the pockets of their jackets. Both of them know the silence won’t last, that they’ll have to talk about all this eventually, but for a blissful moment they’re content to just be in each other’s space. Keith slows his pace, forcing Lance to do the same, and tugs at Lance’s forearm until he manages to dislodge his hand from where it’s been avoiding the cold air. Lance moves to slide it into Keith’s pocket and take hold of his own hand, but an elbow blocks him.

“Keith, what--” he starts, but the man cuts him off by nudging his upper arm.

Seeing that Lance is still confused, Keith rolls his eyes and presses himself so close to Lance’s side that he very nearly knocks the man over. Once Lance recovers his balance, however, he understands. Cheeks burning from more than the sharp air, Lance slides his arm around Keith’s shoulders and tucks Keith close.

“And you call me a cat,” Lance snorts, pressing a kiss into Keith’s hair.

Keith doesn’t respond; just wraps an arm around Lance’s waist and continues walking. Lance suspects that the color in his cheeks is not entirely weather-related but elects not to comment. He doesn’t want to ruin the peaceful moment just yet. With a gentle smile he kisses Keith’s temple once more, then they continue on their walk.

It’s going to take a lot of work to rebuild what they lost, and even more to make it better, but this time Lance is determined to work every bit as hard as Keith does for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for joining me for the ride, all. Please let me know what you thought in the comments, and have a lovely day! I wish good things for all of my wonderful readers, despite what the angst I provide may lead you to believe


End file.
